My Parents Drugged Me.

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Blueridge Believer

Puritan Board Professor
Some of you folks with a little age on you will apprecitate this. The author is unknown:

GOD BLESS THE PARENTS WHO DRUGGED US..
The other day, someone at a store in our town read that a Methamphetamine lab had been found in an old farmhouse in the adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical question.
"Why didn't we have a drug problem when you and I were growing up?"
I replied I had a drug problem when I was young: I was drug to church on Sunday morning. I was drug to church for weddings and funerals. I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather.
I was drug by my ears when I was disrespectful to adults. I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or the preacher, or if I didn't put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.
I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profanity.
I was drug out to pull weeds in mom's garden and flower beds and cocklebur's out of dad's fields.
I was drug to the homes of family, friends and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair the clothesline, or chop some firewood; and, if my mother had ever known that I took a single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.
Those drugs are still in my veins and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, or think. They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroin; and, if today's children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place.
God bless the parents who drugged us. :D
 
How true! I also remember being whacked out a few times: whacked out behind the house for messing with things I shouldn't have been, whacked by a teacher on the hands for being disruptive, whacked out was a common condition.
 
In my life it wasn't my parent's who "drug" me to church or the woodshed but my grandmother. I praise God for her, for it was from her lips I first heard the gospel of my salvation. This simple deeply Christian woman with a (gasp!) anabaptist (Old German Baptist Brethren) background, gave me my first Bible one Christmas as a gift. And when I would spend summers there I'd listen to her read the Scriptures every morning and every evening.

When I was disobedient she was not afraid to use the rod when needed, on me or my twin brother.

She went to be with Jesus back in 1998. I miss her still, but rejoice that she is with the saviour. She was bed ridden at the end, and the one thing that came to my mind when she passed was that now she's "Walking, and Leaping, and Praising God!".
 
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That brought back memories of moments in front of the kitchen sink with a bar of soap being applied to my mouth. Yuck! But thank God for my parents who insisted that we show respect.
 
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